A Blast from the Past
by Halcris
Summary: Doyle witnesses a murder, and stirs up a very old memory for Cowley.


**A Blast from the Past.**

Doyle leant back against the leather-padded bench-seat and relaxed. He'd been working hard all day, following up various leads, most of them fruitless, and felt that he had earned the drink sitting on the table in front of him.

He'd found this little pub down in the docklands area nearly six months ago, and had managed to make quite a few visits to it since. And this evening he'd persuaded his partner, Bodie, to join him when he'd finished his stint of enquiries. He was waiting for him now, and hoping his mate would find it as interesting a venue as he did.

What made it so interesting ? To start with, the beer was very good, the service was friendly, but most of all, it was the entertainment. That consisted of one man, known to all as 'Old Abe'.

Abe was the complete picture of an 'old sea-dog'. His round face was ruddy and weather-beaten, fringed with a ring of grizzled grey whiskers. He wore a navy fisherman's sweater that had seen better days, and a battered, peaked cap.

He claimed to have been a sea-going man all his days, which wasn't totally true, but he never mentioned any of his other past activities.

He regaled the pub customers regularly with lively, well-told tales of his adventures on the high seas, and in ports all over the world. That this earned him his nightly supply of beer was incidental. His wonderful tales were good value for the pub, for they brought in other punters in their droves, and he was a favourite with all who heard him.

He was in the middle of a tall tale about an encounter with brigands in the port of Santa Cruz in southern Argentina, and was holding his audience enthralled.

Suddenly, there was an interruption !

The entrance door to the bar was pushed open quite violently, and four men swept in. They were older men, not rampaging teenagers, and their air of aggression and menace was very evident. Three of them were heavily armed with automatic weapons, which they turned to cover the people in the crowded bar.

They strode forward to surround Abe, quite ruthlessly pushing some of the old man's audience out of the way.

Their leader, a big, burly man, spoke loudly. "Everyone stay still and quiet, and no-one will get hurt," he snarled.

Frightened gasps ran round the pub as those there obeyed immediately.

The man who'd spoken walked up to Abe, who was regarding him with a very scared expression.

"Hi, Abe," he said, "Long time no see." The words were friendly enough, but the tone of them was not !

"Joe," acknowledged Abe, in a rather weak whisper.

"You know what we're here for, Abe," went on Joe. "Our money !."

"I haven't got it," whimpered Abe.

"Willis said you had it," said the big man. "Said you were splashing the cash."

"I only had my small whack," protested Abe. "The share that was agreed on. I was only the look-out man, remember !."

"Where's the rest, then ?," demanded Joe.

"Spider took it," replied Abe. "All of it, I swear. Willis knows that."

"Pity he didn't tell us then," snarled Joe, "Before we killed him."

Abe quailed, and went as white as a sheet.

"Right, then," said the big man. "Where's Spider ?"

He grabbed the front of Abe's jersey, and screwed it up tight against the old man's throat, almost strangling him.

Doyle who had been watching all this, tensed but wary, was angered by this ill-usage of a scared old man.

"Hey," he yelled, rather recklessly getting up from his seat.

The nearest of the gangsters, moving surprisingly quickly for a big man, took a few steps, and let fly with a huge fist.

The blow knocked Doyle sideways, off balance. He cannoned into a young girl, perched rather precariously on a high bar-stool. Both of them fell heavily to the floor. Doyle's head collided with the side of the bar, almost stunning him.

The fallen girl started to shriek, and clutched at Doyle, having landed on top of him. The man took a step closer, aiming his gun menacingly.

"Shut her up," he snarled, "Or I'll do it, permanently !"

The girl, momentarily silenced, gave a little whimper, and turned her face into Doyle's shoulder. Instinctively, he closed his arms round her to keep her still, patting her back and muttering soothing noises into the tumbled dark hair tickling his chin.

The gunman took a step back, and swung his gun round the rest of the customers seated at the tables. "Any more heroes ?," he asked, challengingly.

No-one moved. Although some of them were rough, tough dock-workers, not averse to the occasional brawl, to be threatened by a ruthless-looking gunman was a new and daunting experience.

Meanwhile, Joe was shaking Abe viciously, and slapping his face. "I shouldn't have to ask twice," he barked. "Where's Spider ?"

"I don't know, honestly," spluttered Abe. And as the slaps continued, he added "He said he fancied Venezuela, or maybe Monaco. It's been a long time, Joe. I haven't heard from him at all."

Doyle stayed sitting where he was, with his back against the bar, and the girl held firmly against him. Fortunately, she had quietened, and was just sobbing gently, frightened out of her wits. He could feel her trembling under his grasp.

He was helpless. He could neither move, nor allow the girl to move, for fear that they'd both get shot. Looking at the hard-faced man glaring at them, Doyle believed he would do that without compunction.

His thoughts were racing, as he tried to deal with the situation. I do hope Bodie doesn't come blundering into this, he thought. This lot are so ruthless they might shoot on sight.

Joe glared at the old man in front of him. "I hope you're not holding out on us, Abe," he snarled.

"No, I'm not, honestly," whimpered Abe. "I don't know any more."

"That's a pity," said Joe.

He gave a sign to his men, to indicate that they were leaving. Still covering the subdued crowd with their weapons, the men backed to the door.

As he reached it, Joe turned back. "Bye, Abe," he said, and without the slightest warning, pulled a gun from his pocket and fired.

The old sea-dog slumped to the floor.

Then they were gone, to the roar of powerful car engines.

For a moment there was a stunned silence !

Then came a fierce hubbub of noise. Several men rushed towards the fallen old man, even though they all knew he was beyond help.

Doyle scrambled to his feet, helping the girl up. As he did so, a young man hurried up to them.

"Is she all right ?," he asked anxiously. "She's my sister."

"She's not hurt, only frightened," replied Doyle, and thankfully relinquished her into her brother's care.

He was furious at the ruthless, unnecessary killing. He knew it was useless even to attempt to go after the men. By the time he got to his car, they would be miles away, and he'd no idea in which direction.

But he felt a desperate need to do something.

Then came further interruptions. Sirens and flashing blue lights announced the arrival of a squad of police.

A barman, who had been down in the cellar to change a barrel, coming up the steps, had glimpsed through the beaded curtain what was going on. He'd had the sense to very quietly and cautiously sneak out of the back door, and make for the nearest public telephone box.

But as he'd warned that the intruders were armed, it had taken a while for the police to scramble together a suitable force of men.

They had missed their quarry by minutes, and now swarmed in to find out what had happened. They were assailed by a barrage of voices all talking at once.

An Inspector struggled to take charge of this confusion, and set his men to take statements, one at a time.

In the middle of all this, Bodie walked in, looking for his friend. At first the police outside had refused to admit him, but he'd flashed his I.D. card, and they'd let him through. His eyes searched the crowd milling about, and spotted his mate. He hurried over to him. He saw at once that his partner was tense and tight-lipped, almost beside himself with anger.

He acted quickly. He grabbed Doyle by the arm, positively man-handled him out of the crowded bar, into the empty passage leading to the toilets. He pushed him up against the wall, prepared to hold him there by force if necessary.

"Calm down, Ray," he ordered. "You look fit to 'blow a gasket' !"

"They didn't need to kill the old man," said Doyle fiercely. "He told them all he knew."

But Bodie's presence had calmed him down a bit, and some of the tension went from him.

"Look," said Bodie reasonably, "Come and sit in the car, and tell me just what happened."

He led his mate out of the back door, and round to his car, parked close to one of the police vehicles. A policeman challenged them, thinking they were leaving, but their I.D. cards dealt with that.

"I'll go back and make my statement in a minute," promised Doyle.

He climbed into the car beside his partner, and, endeavouring to relax, told him all he could remember. Bodie listened intently, watching, pleased to see his mate gradually become calmer. At last he commented on what he'd heard.

"A very nasty business, Ray," he said, "But not our business. Murder is for the police to deal with. It has nothing to do with what we're working on, does it ?"

"I'd like to do something about it," said Doyle.

"Yes, I know you would," replied Bodie, "but Cowley is going to say just what I've said, isn't he ? Not our business !"

Doyle had to accept, reluctantly, that this was true.

He went back into the pub, spoke to the Inspector in charge, and made his statement, clearly and concisely. Then he went to pick up his own car, parked a street away, and the pair returned to base, and made their reports on their day's work.

Doyle attempted to tell his boss what had happened, but was cut short by the dour Scotsman.

"Yes, I heard," he said. "Nasty, but not our concern, - police business."

And he proceeded to brief them further on the current drugs case they were working on.

Doyle was a bit put out that his boss hadn't even listened. But Bodie had been right when he predicted it would be like that. So he gave his full attention back to the task in hand.

He was still very angry about it all, but said no more to anyone.

It was several days before Bodie realised what was happening. Doyle had refused a couple of invitations to double-dates with girls whose company they both enjoyed, saying he had something else to do. And twice Bodie had rung his home number in the evening, and got no reply, in spite of his mate having said he was having an early night. He began to realise that his partner was very silent and subdued at work too. Not his usual buoyant self. He taxed him with it.

"What are you up to, mate ?," he asked. And then it dawned on him. "You're looking into Abe's murder on your own, aren't you ?"

"None of your business," snapped Doyle.

"Cowley won't like it," said Bodie.

"Not his business either," retorted Doyle. "It's in my own time."

Doyle was so far removed from his usual reasonable self that Bodie shut up. He wasn't about to go telling tales, but he was concerned.

However Cowley found out from a different source, and summoned Doyle to his office. He didn't much like the stubborn, belligerent look on his operative's face as he entered, but he pressed on nevertheless.

"I hear you've been to the police-station down by the docks, the one that's dealing with that murder," he began. "Are you making enquiries into that, Doyle ? , I told you it wasn't our business."

"In my off-duty time," protested Doyle.

"Doyle," said Cowley firmly, "C.I.5 men are never 'off-duty'. You are granted some hours off, - for rest and recreation ! If you do not use them for that purpose, you risk diminishing your fitness for your official work. And that can mean putting lives at risk, - your own and others – maybe Bodie's."

The expression on Doyle's face changed a little. He didn't reply, but Cowley could see that he'd taken that thought on board.

"That's all," he said briskly, dismissing him, but hoping that his words would have the desired effect.

Bodie and Doyle spent the next day on a complicated stake-out, watching a car show-room, and a repair work-shop, an outfit that was suspected of being a respectable front for some far more devious activities. It was going to be a long job, so they were relieved by a couple of men taking over the night shift.

But when Bodie reported to Cowley the following morning, he quite expected that he and his partner would be on the same task again. So he was quite surprised when Cowley issued his orders.

"The same stake-out, Bodie. Take Jax with you."

"Why, where's Doyle ?," he asked curiously.

"He's in hospital," replied his boss curtly.

"What happened ?," demanded Bodie, startled by the news. "Is he hurt bad ? Why wasn't I told ?."

"Oh, stop fussing, Bodie," snapped Cowley. "You're not his nanny !"

Then he relented and explained. "He got hit by a car last night. He's not bad. They only kept him in overnight. Murphy's bringing him in now."

As if on cue, there was a tap on the door, and both men came in. Doyle was limping slightly, and his left arm, out of its jacket sleeve, was heavily bandaged and supported by a small neck-sling. But he gave his mate a re-assuring smile, and echoed his boss's words.

"Don't fuss, Bodie," he said. "I'm all right, really."

As if to prove it, he slipped his hand out of the sling and pulled it off. "I don't need this, but a dragon of a Sister wouldn't let me leave unless I wore it."

Cowley cut short this exchange. "Let's get some work done," he said brusquely. "Bodie, why are you still here ? Collect Jax, and get out to that stake-out. "

Bodie shot an enquiring look towards his usual partner.

"Doyle's going to help me with some research," said Cowley, but gave no further explanation.

When the others had all gone, Cowley indicated to Doyle to take a seat, and returned to his own behind his desk.

"Now," he began, "This accident of yours last night. It wasn't an 'accident' was it ?"

"No," admitted Doyle "It was a deliberate attempt to run me down."

"In what connection ?," demanded Cowley. "Is it to do with the stake-out you are currently on, or with the private enquiries you've been making ?"

"The latter, I'm afraid," Doyle confessed. "I only glimpsed the driver, but I'm sure it was the man who menaced the girl and me in the pub."

"I thought so," said Cowley. "So tell me again all you know about that event." So Doyle described again all that had happened, leading up to Abe's murder. Cowley listened thoughtfully. At last he made his comment.

"Let's just list the few names we've got," he said. "There's a leader called Joe, there's Willis who they claim to have killed, and someone called Spider that they're looking for."

"I've been thinking about that," interrupted Doyle. "It's a nickname, obviously, but there's usually some logic in these. Maybe his name's Webb or Crabbe, or something like that."

Cowley nodded and continued. "Did you find out Abe's surname ?" he asked.

"It wasn't easy," replied Doyle. "His background is very sketchy. He clearly didn't want it known, but I got it eventually. It's Middlemass, a very old English name.".

"Ah," said Cowley, with an air of satisfaction. Meeting Doyle's enquiring look, he explained. "I was right when I first said it wasn't our business," he began. "But all the same, the names rang a bell, albeit a very old far away one."

He paused, frowning as if trying to recall a memory, then continued.

"When I heard what you were doing, I started a few enquiries of my own. I went after Willis, the man they said they'd killed. It wasn't straight-forward, for it didn't happen in London. But eventually it was traced to Sheffield. The police had identified him because he had a criminal record, and so was in their files, - and I've just received his details," he added, indicating a folder on his desk.

"So you and I are going to look up some police records, - but old ones, in the archives, for this goes back fifteen or sixteen years !"

Doyle looked astonished. That old ? Before he'd even joined the police.

"The attack on you has confirmed my suspicions," went on Cowley, "And if these men are who I think they are, I want them off my streets !"

Doyle smiled inwardly at his boss's extravagant claim of ownership of the streets, but, on reflection, he admitted, there's not much that goes on in London that Cowley doesn't know about sooner or later.

Cowley led the way down to his car, and drove them skilfully through the busy streets to the building that housed the police archives, records going back a great many years. His authority earned him immediate attention, and he set a couple of young assistants to help in the search for what he wanted.

"I'm looking for a very big bank robbery, of some fifteen or sixteen years ago," he explained. "I can't remember what area it was, but subsidiary names involved are Willis and Middlemass, and possibly Webb."

For a while there was relative quiet in the huge library of records as Cowley and Doyle and the two young assistants took down boxes, removed files, flicked through pages therein, and not finding what they sought, pushed them back into place.

After about thirty minutes concentrated effort from all concerned, there was a muted exclamation from one of the young assistants. He beckoned to his associate, and between them they carried a large box and a bundle of folders to a small convenient table.

"I think this is what you're looking for, sir," he called.

Cowley and Doyle hurried back to the table. Cowley took the lid off the box and began scanning the top papers.

"Well done," he exclaimed. "This is just what I've been searching for."

All four men drew chairs up to the table, and began to read the papers that Cowley passed out to them.

"Yes, this is it," continued Cowley eagerly. "Sixteen years ago, as I thought, a very serious bank raid. They got away with over a quarter of a million, and it was never recovered. It was a nasty affair, too. Several young cashiers were ruthlessly assaulted, and injured, one seriously."

He picked up a sheet of paper, and waved it excitedly. "Here's the name Willis. He was a porter employed in the bank. He copied several internal keys for the gang. He also let them in by a back door, just after the bank had closed for the day."

"They caught some of them then ?," queried Doyle.

"Oh, yes," said Cowley. "Willis and two others, but not the main man. He was called Webb, Doyle, - a good guess –Cyril Webb."

"No wonder he adopted a nickname," murmured Doyle to himself.

"The main two," went on Cowley, "were Joe Griffiths and Pete Barker. Two very nasty characters. They were responsible for the violence. I think you'll find, Doyle, when you check, that they've only just got out. Willis did a much shorter term."

"And Abe Middlemass ?," asked Doyle.

"Not mentioned," said Cowley. "But you said he claimed to be only the 'look-out' man, so perhaps he wasn't picked up. But neither Willis nor the other two would utter a word to help find Webb, or give any clue to help the recovery of the money."

"But they want it now !," said Doyle. "That explains it. Having kept quiet all these years, they reckon they're entitled to it. But there were four of them in the pub raid. Who are the other two ?"

"That's something for you to check," ordered Cowley. "Probably some thugs as nasty as themselves that they picked up while in prison."

Cowley took careful note of the details of the documents, in case they wanted to look at them again. He thanked the young assistants for their help. Then he drove Doyle back to Headquarters.

"Next job for you, Doyle," he ordered. "Find out when Griffiths and Barker were released, and from which prison. Then go there, and see if they can help you with the names of the two thugs they appear to have co-opted. Then see if you can get 'mug-shots' of them all so that I can put out an A.P.B."

"Yes, sir," said Doyle quickly, quite looking forward to the task. This was so much better than the few enquiries he had managed.

Cowley's next remark surprised him.

"Are you fit to drive, Doyle ? I had your car brought back to the yard."

"Perfectly capable, sir," replied Doyle, a little puzzled.

"Take Murphy with you," ordered his boss briskly.

"I don't need a 'nanny'," exclaimed Doyle indignantly.

"No," said Cowley, "But Murphy's good on research. It should speed the job up. Don't argue !" he added, as Doyle looked about to protest further.

Doyle submitted, and went off to find Murphy.

He would have been very surprised if he'd heard the words his boss added as he went out of earshot.

"You may not be worried, young man," he murmured, "but the man who tried to run you down may be looking to finish the job, so you'll have back-up, whether you like it or not. I'll get Bodie back with you tomorrow."

Doyle and Murphy quickly got on with the job. They located the police report that told them that Griffiths and Barker had been released a month before, from Wandsworth Prison. So they drove south, over the river, and made their way there.

They introduced themselves to the Governor, explained what they wanted and availed themselves of the help offered. This gave them two more names, Evans and Watson, who, they were told, had been frequently noticed in conversation with the other two. They were both nasty types, in for serious and repeated G.B.H. and had been released within days of the other two.

Thanking everyone for their help, they left to go on to the next part of their job, finding 'mug-shots'.

They walked across the prison forecourt towards Doyle's car. They'd almost reached it, when Murphy suddenly yelled "Down", and pushed Doyle violently towards the shelter of the car, dropping flat himself.

A large black car swept by, and several shots screamed over their heads, one of them taking out the off-side wing mirror. Then it was gone in a cloud of dust.

Murphy scrambled to his feet, and moved to help Doyle up.

"Persistent, aren't they ?," said Doyle, smiling his thanks to his friend.

Murphy looked anxiously at him, and was alarmed to see an ominous red stain spreading on the white-bandaged arm.

"Are you hit, Doyle ?," he exclaimed.

"No," replied Doyle quickly. "I'm all right. Just caught my arm on the bumper, I'm afraid."

"Do you need to go back to the hospital ?," asked Murphy anxiously.

"No way," said Doyle firmly. "Face that dragon of a Sister again, no thank you ! Let's get back to base. Our own man will fix it."

Murphy insisted on driving back. He took the wheel and started the car.

"I wonder why they're still after you ?," he said thoughtfully.

"I suppose it's because I can identify them," suggested Doyle.

"But so could a dozen others in the pub," protested Murphy.

"Well, maybe it's because I was making enquiries," said Doyle. "Not that I got very far. I only got Abe's surname. It's a bit unusual."

"Hm," said Murphy, not convinced. "Maybe they think you know more."

"Maybe they are just plain nasty," said Doyle.

They made good speed back to base, and, as Doyle had said, their on-call medical man quickly re-stitched and dressed the cut which had opened up.

Saying he was fine again, Doyle insisted that they went on with the rest of their task, which was to visit Records, to try to get 'mug-shots' of the men they were after. Doyle was glad of Murphy's help as they searched through the files, for the names were not that uncommon.

Griffiths and Barker were quickly found, as was Watson, but Evans took a little while as there were several of them. But at last they had copies of four pictures that Doyle positively identified as those men he'd seen at the pub.

Murphy prepared to leave, but Doyle delayed him.

"Just a minute," he said. "Let's see if we can get one of Cyril Webb, too"

"Why ?," asked Murphy. "You're not angling for a trip out to Monaco to look for him, are you ?," he added teasingly.

"Wouldn't that be nice ?," replied Doyle with a grin.

"Cowley wouldn't wear it," said Murphy.

"'Course he wouldn't," agreed Doyle. "Besides," he added thoughtfully, "If there was a picture, which is quite likely, as he was a known villain, it wouldn't be any use now."

"Oh, why ?," asked Murphy.

"Well," said Doyle, "If he's had about fifteen years somewhere, living the 'high life' on all that money, I bet he doesn't look the same now !."

He looked thoughtful for a bit and then added "But I suppose that's really police business. Cowley just wants these four dealt with. I'd just like the chance of a go at Barker, who's been after me, and Griffiths who shot Abe."

They carried their 'mug-shots' back to their boss, who immediately set about having them copied and distributed, as he issued an A.P.B., to intensify the search for these villains.

Much to Doyle's disappointment, the next day he found himself posted back on the stake-out with Bodie. The stake-out had been going for almost a week now, with no success at all. The C.I.5 men knew there could be various reasons for this. Either they were totally wrong and there was nothing to find, or the villains, who were not stupid, had realised they were being watched, and had put a hold on activities, hoping C.I.5 would give up and go away. Cowley had ordered that the surveillance should continue for two more days. Then he would re-consider.

Bodie kept a watchful eye on his partner, having heard what had happened the day before, but he seemed to be all right. As they sat near the window, giving them a good observation area, they talked idly about recent events.

"I've been thinking …" began Doyle.

Bodie interrupted cheekily "Don't overdo that ! It can be dangerous."

"Shut up, you idiot," retorted Doyle, and went on. "Some men who carry out robberies, hide the proceeds away quickly and carefully. Then if they're caught, they do their time patiently, knowing it will be there when they get out."

Bodie nodded, not sure where this line of thought was going.

"This lot," continued Doyle, "were caught before the money was shared out. But they wouldn't reveal anything. They didn't 'grass' on Webb. They must have been hoping they could trust him. And now they're out they have found they were wrong. He's gone off with the lot !"

"That sounds about it," agreed Bodie. "So ?."

"Well, they've obviously got some money, - enough to equip themselves with guns and cars," said Doyle.

"Unless they stole those," suggested Bodie.

"That's possible," conceded Doyle. "But they haven't the resources to go traipsing off abroad, looking for Webb."

Bodie began to see where this was going. "So they're likely to be out to get some funds," he said.

"Yes," agreed his mate. "I shouldn't be surprised if they pulled another robbery somewhere."

"You're probably right," said Bodie. "But I bet you're not the only one who has worked that out. Our clever boss probably has."

He was right about that. Cowley had thought of it, and so had the police. C.I.5 didn't have the monopoly of clever minds.!

The police had already been busy, assessing probable targets for such a robbery, and alerting patrol-men to watch the likely places.

As the stake-out didn't seem to be working, Cowley decided to take his best team off that job and find them something better. So it was mid-afternoon that a relief team came with instructions that they were to report back to base. They were rather pleased with this, as the task had become very boring.

The stake-out had been just into Bromley, so the pair were travelling back through Lewisham to cross over the river on their way back towards home territory.

Bodie was driving, and the pair were chatting idly about what they might be able to arrange for their evening's entertainment.

"Angela's away," said Bodie, "but Susie might be free."

Doyle suddenly interrupted him. He had spotted a police car parked by the side of the road, and had recognised the driver.

"Pull over for a minute, will you," he said. "That's Bob Morton, and I knew his father very well, - one of the old-school style of coppers, - salt of the earth."

As Bodie drew up behind the police-car, Doyle hopped nimbly out, and approached the driver's door.

"Hi, Bob," he said warmly, and was met by an answering smile.

"Good to see you, Doyle," replied the pleasant young constable.

"How is your father ?," asked Doyle.

"Very well," responded Bob. "He retired two years ago, and he and Mum found a nice little place down in Devon, and they're both enjoying life."

"Good for them," said Doyle. "I'm very pleased to hear that. Give them my regards.

Just then there was an interruption as the police-car radio flared into life.

"All units alert," it announced, "Suspected robbery taking place at bank in Gresham Road, Lewisham. Attend and block off area. Shots have been heard so do not enter. Armed police have been alerted and will be there soon."

"Hey," exclaimed Doyle, "That sounds interesting, and it's not far away either."

Morton started his engine and began to move off. Doyle dashed back to the car, and quickly told Bodie what he'd heard.

"It's police business," said Bodie at once.

"I know," said Doyle, "But it could be the lot we're after, and if it is, I'd like to be there. Come on, Gresham Road, it's quite close."

Infected by his mate's enthusiasm, Bodie started the car, and followed the rapidly-disappearing police vehicle.

It only took them a few minutes to reach the scene. There were several police cars already there, blocking off all access streets, and turning away traffic.

Flashing their I.D. cards allowed them to follow Morton's car. Bodie pulled up in a convenient space, and the pair climbed out.

Doyle recognised the Inspector who appeared to be in charge, and went up to him.

"Inspector Durham," he said politely, and the man swung round to see who was addressing him. Doyle showed his card to assist the man's memory, and it worked.

"Ah, Doyle," said the Inspector, "What are you doing here ? Has C.I.5 an interest in this ?"

"We might have," responded Doyle. "If this is the lot we suspect it is, Griffith's and co., Mr Cowley does want them."

"Yes, I know about them," replied Durham. "It's quite likely that's who it is, but we haven't had any identification to confirm that yet. We've been instructed to wait for the 'armed response' team. They are on their way."

Just then, Doyle's sharp eyes spotted something unusual. There was a narrow alley beside the bank building, and a figure was creeping down it, keeping close to the wall.

Before anyone realised what he was doing, he had shot across the road, and into the dark alley. He emerged a moment later, his arm round a girl, supporting her, as he hurried her back across the road.

Bodie, showing remarkable quick thinking, opened the boot of the car, and whipped out a travel rug, which he hurried to put round the girl. They could all see she was trembling, and white with fright.

Doyle opened the passenger door of their car, and eased her onto the seat.

The Inspector joined them as they gathered close to hear what she had to say. The fact that she could see lots of police around, seemed to calm her, and the care she was being shown, helped her to relax a little so that she could tell them her story.

"There are robbers in the bank," she blurted out first.

"Yes, we know," said Inspector Durham. "We're here to deal with it. Tell us who you are."

"My name's Molly Graham," she began. "I work in the bank. I'm a cashier."

She was still very flustered, so Doyle spoke re-assuring words. "Take your time," he said gently, "We're listening."

She managed to raise a grateful smile. "Well," she continued, "I'd just cashed up, and closed my till. It had all balanced correctly first time, fortunately. So I decided to go to the 'ladies' as some of the others were still working."

She smiled nervously, and added, "The under-manager doesn't come round to collect until everyone is ready." Her listeners didn't appreciate the fact that things didn't always work out so easily. Sometimes it took several tries to complete the task. Then realising that this was straying from what was currently important, she returned to her story.

"I passed Dobson on his way to close the front doors, but I don't think he got there, for there was suddenly crashing and banging and shouting. Then I heard gun-shots and one of the girls screaming ! I was in the washroom by this time. I was so scared that someone would look in there, so I hid in the cleaner's cupboard, - it's quite a big space. I'm glad I did, for I heard the door banged open, and footsteps coming in. I held my breath and they went away again. I stayed where I was for a while,- I was so scared !"

Doyle patted her hand calmingly. "You're doing well," he said, "Then what ?"

"Then I crept out, and managed to open the window over the sink. I climbed out into the alley."

"That's our way in," said Doyle eagerly.

"Hold on," interrupted Inspector Durham. "You're not thinking of going in after them ?"

"Why not ?," demanded Doyle, "If it's the gang I think it is, I want them !"

"We don't know that it is them," objected Durham. "We haven't seen any of them."

The girl, calmer now and more in control, interjected a word. "Actually, I did see one of them," she said. "The cupboard door is very ill-fitting. I got just a glimpse."

Doyle instantly fished in his inside pocket and pulled out the 'mug-shots'. He showed them to her, and she looked through them carefully. At last she pointed to one.

"It could have been him," she said.

Doyle turned to Bodie and showed him. "Watson," he said.

He turned to the Inspector. "That clinches it," he said. "That lot are so nasty. If Bodie and I sneak in and keep out of sight, we may be able to prevent them turning on the staff when the police do break in. They are quite capable of doing so !."

"Goodness, are they as bad as that ?" exclaimed Durham.

"Yes, they are," declared Doyle, his anger returning as his memory stirred. "I was there when they killed 'Old Abe', you know, - totally unnecessary !"

He looked across the road. The premises had once been a small hotel. The bank now occupied the ground floor. Upstairs had been converted into flats and bed-sits, with the entrance on the road behind.

The front door of the bank, the only means of access, consisted of two solid wooden doors, which opened back to the sides of a small lobby, revealing a revolving door. These doors were still wide open. Dobson hadn't reached them.

This then would be the main way in for the armed police when they arrived, and it would not be easy. There would be no element of surprise. It would have to be a concerted fierce rush.

Several vans approached, parking further along the road, and armed policemen began to emerge from them. The sight of them decided Doyle.

"Come on, Bodie," he exclaimed, and before anyone thought to prevent him, he shot across the road towards the alley.

Bodie was momentarily taken aback. He understood Doyle's eagerness, but would have preferred to wait, to consult with the armed response team. But he wasn't going to leave his mate to go it alone, was he ? So he quickly followed him.

They soon found the still-open washroom window, and easily climbed into the empty room. Drawing their guns, and checking them, a matter of routine, they moved towards the door. They eased it open very cautiously, but it only gave onto a deserted corridor. They could neither see nor hear what was happening in the main area.

Moving carefully and silently, they edged towards the corner a few yards ahead. When they reached it, Doyle crouched down, and very cautiously peered round, taking swift stock of the area before his gaze.

He quickly assessed the positions of the four heavily armed gang members. Two yards away, one of them stood with his back towards them, his weapon covering the whole room. To the right, another was beside an open safe, watching as an older man, a bank official, on his knees, was piling bundles of notes into the bag he was holding open.

To the left Barker, holding his gun close to the head of a young male cashier, was forcing him to open each till in turn, and to fish out the notes in them.

Griffiths was at the far end of the room, swinging his gun from side to side, as he covered the forms of the rest of the staff, mainly female cashiers, cowering in dread, down on the floor as he had ordered.

Drawing back, Doyle motioned to Bodie to have a quick look. Then, putting a finger to his lips, he pulled him back, to retreat a little down the corridor.

When he reckoned they were sufficiently out of ear-shot, he whispered his intentions to his partner. "When the police break in," he said, "I'm going to try to take out Barker, before he shoots that young man."

Bodie nodded and whispered in return. "I'll deal with that nearest man," he said.

They crept forward again to the corner. As he waited for the moment of action, Doyle's thoughts were grim. In a few moments, he was going to have to rely on the accuracy accredited to him, gained by hard training, practice and experience, if he were to save the young cashier's life.

Griffiths and Barker were both very hard men, with 'itchy' trigger fingers, who had scant regard for the innocent lives they endangered.

The waiting seemed interminable.

Suddenly there was a slight sound from behind them. They swung round, surprised, to find that two armed policemen, had evidently followed them in through the washroom window.

They didn't speak, but one of them tapped his watch, and then held up two fingers. Bodie and Doyle nodded, understanding that this meant the main assault was due in two more minutes.

Although they hadn't expected this, it was good to feel they had back-up. All four men waited, tense and poised.

At last, they heard the sound they had been waiting for, - the swish of the revolving door !

Doyle straightened up, took a swift pace forward, and fired. He was successful ! His shot took out Barker just as he had intended it to do. But he had been right about the man having an 'itchy' trigger finger. It had moved convulsively, letting off a burst of fire. Fortunately, his aim had altered, and the fusillade of bullets shattered the glass partitions above the cashiers' stations.

The resultant noise added to the confusion of the next few moments, the shattering of glass into a million pieces, plus the sound of gunfire, augmented by the screams of the frightened girls flattening themselves to the floor.

But it was quickly over, as the area was swamped by men clad in dark blue combat gear.

Doyle moved forward and helped up the young man whose life he had just saved. There was a slight trace of blood on his cheek, but it was only from a cut caused by a fragment of flying glass.

Barker was flat on his back on the floor, his eyes wide open and a surprised look on his face. But he was dead, as Doyle had intended, and wouldn't threaten frightened girls again.

The two co-opted men, Evans and Watson were still alive, and were being taken into custody, one with a sore head where Bodie had felled him, and the other with a bullet in his shoulder.

Doyle moved across the room to join his partner, who was checking on the body of Joe Griffiths. It would be difficult to tell who had dispatched him, for he had several wounds, including a head injury, and the armed police were all very good marksmen, of course.

Doyle gazed grimly at the body. "Pity," he said, "I would like to have seen him stand trial for Abe's murder."

Bodie nodded. He could understand that. "Still, look at it this way," he said, "We've saved the tax-payer a lot of money."

They walked over to join Inspector Durham, who had now come in to assess the situation.

"Well done, gentlemen," he said. "There are no police casualties, and only a few minor injuries among the bank staff, though quite a lot of them are suffering from shock, of course. But we'll see they get help for that."

Deciding they could well leave it to the police to deal with all the necessary clearing-up, the two walked out through the revolving door, and made their way back towards their car.

As he climbed in, and slumped in the passenger seat, Doyle felt suddenly weary. He supposed it was just relief now that all the tension was over.

He glanced at his partner, to see whether he was feeling the same, and surprised a mischievous look on his mate's face. What was he thinking ?

Bodie started the car, and they moved off. He began to explain his amusing thoughts, responding to the questioning look from Doyle.

"We designate ourselves as 'civil servants', don't we ?," he began.

Doyle nodded, wondering where this was going.

"And street-cleaners are civil servants, too, aren't they ?," continued Bodie.

"What are you on about ?," demanded Doyle.

"Well," said Bodie with a wide grin, "We can now go back and tell our boss that we've been good little 'civil servants', and have cleaned 'his' streets of that gang – just as he wanted."


End file.
